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Authors: Bard Constantine
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floor. The stench dug into her nostrils, filling them with the smell of clotted blood and rotted meat.
It was Greg’s remains. His head was barely attached to his neck, his eyes bulging as though still in shock.
Drake vomited behind her. She had to swallow hard not to follow suit. It was one thing to hear the expression about being torn limb from limb, another thing to actually see it. It seemed impossible that so much blood could be in one body. Even the ceiling was stained with Rorschach blots of crimson.
“We already knew about Greg,” Guy said. His face was impassive, as though he looked at a rose garden instead of the splattered remains of someone he knew. “No point in getting all out of sorts over it. This is what they do. It seems the beacon only opens once blood is spilled.”
He frowned. “Obviously this was a little extreme even for them. As if they’re trying to frighten anyone from going upstairs.”
“Well it worked.” Michael’s voice was hoarse. “What’s waiting up there that could do this to someone?”
“Doesn’t matter. Up is the only way out.”
“How can you be so sure?” Fran asked.
Guy looked upward. “Because I’ve done this before.”
“That’s not…”
Guy lifted up a hand. “Many times, Fran. You have to trust me.”
Fran knew the doubt was still painted on her face from the way Guy looked at her.
“I know it sounds crazy. I know nothing makes sense right now. But we’ve made it this far. We just have to make it up a few more flights.”
Drake’s quavering voice drew their attention. “What… what the hell is that ?”
They followed his trembling finger. The stairs that led to the seventh floor were interlaced with ghost-white strands of gossamer ropes. Almost like…
“Spider web,” Guy said. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. They shone their beams upward. The webbing covered the stairwell as far as they could see.
Drake whispered hoarsely. “What kind of a spider could do that ?”
As if in answer a thick strand swung from the darkness and latched onto his face. Before he could scream, before they could even react, he was snatched up into the dim alcove. His body flailed helplessly before the darkness swallowed him.
16
Filaments of Chicanery
Everything was blurry and dark, slightly unfocused. Trees hovered threateningly over Lieutenant Guy as he led a troop of soldiers across a stream of black water. After he crossed over he threw his fist up, halting his men. He scanned the shadowy foliage. The trees and branches were twisted into macabre positions that a dark imagination might interpret into deformed bodies.
Sergeant Xenia quickly joined him. Her startlingly blue eyes took in the scene. Her helmet shadowed a face almost cherubic, too delicate for a soldier if appearances counted. She brushed a stray strand of shock-white hair from her face.
“Is this it? Is it the Aberration?’
Guy stared steadily. His arms were prickled with goosebumps. He had long since learned the identifying signs of an approaching invasion. “The Threshold is close. Something is coming.”
Xenia looked back at the tensely waiting soldiers before lowering her voice. “We might be the last two left, Guy. I haven’t heard from anyone else since the Trinity detonation.”
Guy didn’t want to think about that. “For me it was Bermuda. Flight 19. Where Antenor…” He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter, though. Doesn’t change what we have to do.”
Xenia looked back at the soldiers behind them. “They have no idea what they’re getting into. What do we do?”
“The only thing we can do. Keep fighting. Never look back.”
She pulled a medallion from inside her jacket. An antiquated pronged key hung from the leather thong. “Maybe I’ll finally get a chance to use this.” She kissed it as she always did for
It was Greg’s remains. His head was barely attached to his neck, his eyes bulging as though still in shock.
Drake vomited behind her. She had to swallow hard not to follow suit. It was one thing to hear the expression about being torn limb from limb, another thing to actually see it. It seemed impossible that so much blood could be in one body. Even the ceiling was stained with Rorschach blots of crimson.
“We already knew about Greg,” Guy said. His face was impassive, as though he looked at a rose garden instead of the splattered remains of someone he knew. “No point in getting all out of sorts over it. This is what they do. It seems the beacon only opens once blood is spilled.”
He frowned. “Obviously this was a little extreme even for them. As if they’re trying to frighten anyone from going upstairs.”
“Well it worked.” Michael’s voice was hoarse. “What’s waiting up there that could do this to someone?”
“Doesn’t matter. Up is the only way out.”
“How can you be so sure?” Fran asked.
Guy looked upward. “Because I’ve done this before.”
“That’s not…”
Guy lifted up a hand. “Many times, Fran. You have to trust me.”
Fran knew the doubt was still painted on her face from the way Guy looked at her.
“I know it sounds crazy. I know nothing makes sense right now. But we’ve made it this far. We just have to make it up a few more flights.”
Drake’s quavering voice drew their attention. “What… what the hell is that ?”
They followed his trembling finger. The stairs that led to the seventh floor were interlaced with ghost-white strands of gossamer ropes. Almost like…
“Spider web,” Guy said. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. They shone their beams upward. The webbing covered the stairwell as far as they could see.
Drake whispered hoarsely. “What kind of a spider could do that ?”
As if in answer a thick strand swung from the darkness and latched onto his face. Before he could scream, before they could even react, he was snatched up into the dim alcove. His body flailed helplessly before the darkness swallowed him.
16
Filaments of Chicanery
Everything was blurry and dark, slightly unfocused. Trees hovered threateningly over Lieutenant Guy as he led a troop of soldiers across a stream of black water. After he crossed over he threw his fist up, halting his men. He scanned the shadowy foliage. The trees and branches were twisted into macabre positions that a dark imagination might interpret into deformed bodies.
Sergeant Xenia quickly joined him. Her startlingly blue eyes took in the scene. Her helmet shadowed a face almost cherubic, too delicate for a soldier if appearances counted. She brushed a stray strand of shock-white hair from her face.
“Is this it? Is it the Aberration?’
Guy stared steadily. His arms were prickled with goosebumps. He had long since learned the identifying signs of an approaching invasion. “The Threshold is close. Something is coming.”
Xenia looked back at the tensely waiting soldiers before lowering her voice. “We might be the last two left, Guy. I haven’t heard from anyone else since the Trinity detonation.”
Guy didn’t want to think about that. “For me it was Bermuda. Flight 19. Where Antenor…” He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter, though. Doesn’t change what we have to do.”
Xenia looked back at the soldiers behind them. “They have no idea what they’re getting into. What do we do?”
“The only thing we can do. Keep fighting. Never look back.”
She pulled a medallion from inside her jacket. An antiquated pronged key hung from the leather thong. “Maybe I’ll finally get a chance to use this.” She kissed it as she always did for
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